


The Pot of Gold

by Ally147



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 04:10:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2678549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ally147/pseuds/Ally147
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Of f****** course!" he bellowed to the sky. "Too much to ask for a bloody day to do this where it doesn't f****** rain, isn't it?" D/Hr, Post-Hogwarts AU, EWE. Written for the 2014 HP Drizzle Fest on LJ</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pot of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> This story is one of two pieces I wrote for HP_Drizzle, a weather-themed fest over on LJ. Rated M purely for Draco's dirty mouth.
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

_**October 17, 2002** _

_**Hyde Park, London** _

Draco Malfoy was incredibly calm. Too calm, Hermione thought to herself as she cast surreptitious, sidelong glances at him over her little triangle sandwich. His movements were stiff, his responses to her questions were mechanical and rehearsed – he was even taking the same number of chews for each bite he took of his own sandwiches, no matter how large or small the bite ended up being. He kept looking warily around them and to the clouded sky, too, as though he was worried about being watched, but by what or who she had absolutely no idea.

After all, a picnic date in London hardly seemed the sort of occasion to become so wound up about, particularly when they had been together for over two years already. Something so trivial and normal shouldn't bother him at all by now. A picnic, while tame by their usual standards, was positively nice. Quite wonderful, actually. He had packed (or, more likely, had a house elf pack) all her favourites, from her favourite chicken and avocado sandwiches, to her favourite authentic Turkish delight, to her favourite spiced pumpkin juice. The scene was ridiculously pretty, too; brightly coloured autumn leaves fell to the ground and crunched underfoot, and there was a breeze that, while cool, carried on it the warm, comforting scents of cinnamon and caramel from a nearby café. Draco had even conceded to leaving his wand back at his manor home, giving himself over entirely (albeit begrudgingly) to a wholly Muggle afternoon. Everything should have been perfect, and in a way it was, but in a suspicious sort way that seemed to placate or apologise, as though he was trying to keep her calm or stay in her good graces.

It left her with only one logical, albeit confusing conclusion:

Draco was about to break up with her.

And that made her nervous, too. Really, it was the most absurd thing – two nervous people trying to make it through a picnic lunch while simultaneously dancing around the very issues that were making them nervous in the first place. It made their date seem small and impersonal. They were sitting on opposite sides of the blanket and were careful not to touch each other, and Draco's earlier kiss to her cheek had seemed more like a dry peck one would bestow on their grandmother rather than their long-term girlfriend. Their fingers had met briefly over the tray of sandwiches earlier, and Draco had pulled away as though she had electrocuted him. She had felt indignant and a little hurt at that; there was no reason whatsoever that he should react like that to her touch.

But if he really was going to break up with her, and unless there was a perfectly acceptable reason for him doing so, she refused to go quietly.

Hermione set down her sandwich and pulled her thin cardigan tight around her shoulders. She steeled herself for the inevitable, blinking against the wet heat stinging the back of her eyes, and asked, "Draco?"

"Yes?" he responded immediately, his eyes flicking towards her.

She peered more closely at him, noting the thin sheen of sweat that had appeared on his forehead and upper lip despite the cool weather. "Are… are you feeling alright?"

His eyes widened, then narrowed. "Never better."

"Are you certain? You seem a little… tightly wound."

"So do you!" he retorted, defensive.

"Don't turn it back on me!" she snapped. "You're the one who's acting as though an explosion is imminent! You've barely spoken, you keep looking around like you think someone's going to jump out from behind the trees to ambush you, and you act as though my touch is offensive! Just what is going on with you? Is it something I've done?"

Draco's eyes quickly lost their exasperated glint at her last sentence, and he drew in a deep, calming breath, a hand reaching out to rest upon her knee and stroke over the exposed skin where her skirt had ridden up slightly. "No, Granger, it's nothing that you've done."

"Then what is it?" she cried out, unable to rein her anxiety in. "None of this is strange, nothing we haven't done before, but you clearly don't want to be here, or want me here for that matter, so why won't you just go or tell me you want me to leave before the anticipation kills me. Please!"

"Damn it all, Granger," he growled, tearing his hand from her leg. "For someone so bloody smart, you can be ridiculously daft at times." He buried his hand in his coat pocket, and she could see the outline of his fingers clutching something. "Do you really want to know what it is that has me acting like a –"

Draco's words were cut off by a sudden, loud crack of thunder and large, pelting raindrops that were all too quickly coming down in sheets and soaking them to the bone.

"It's raining!" she squeaked. She pulled her cardigan over her head to shield her hair from the water and, with no regard for the soaked blanket, food or basket, or the fact that Draco hadn't even moved, she bolted for the nearby gazebo.

Hermione settled herself on a sheltered bench far away from where the wind was blowing the rain and turned her gaze back out over the park while she caught her breath from her sprint. Draco was still sitting out on the blanket, his crisp white shirt sodden to the point that it was practically transparent, his eyes squeezed shut and hands clenched against his knees in tight, trembling fists.

"Draco?" she yelled after him. "Aren't you coming? You're going to get drenched."

He didn't move, or make any indication that he had heard her. Instead, Draco directed his gaze upwards, and his eyes snapped open with a fierce flash of fury and frustration.

"Of fucking course!" he bellowed to the sky. "Too much to ask for a bloody day to do this where it _doesn't fucking rain,_ isn't it?"

"Draco, what's wrong?" she called urgently out to him, though she was nearly inaudible over the downpour.

"Fucking typical!" he raged. "I get it!" he yelled, standing and directing his attention to the falling heavens once more. "No marrying the Gryffindor princess. She is far too good for the likes of me. I understand. Why else would I get rained on whenever so much as the bloody fancy to ask strikes?"

"Marry?" she whispered, but Draco was too far gone to acknowledge her now.

"Five times now, and you've put a right stop to each one," he yelled, kicking the basket away from him. "Well done, whoever the fuck you are! Fantastic fucking job!"

"Five times?" Hermione ran out and seized Draco by the upper arm, forcing him to face her. "Five times?" she shrieked. "You've tried to ask me to marry you _five times_?"

Draco stared at her in disbelief, blinking rapidly against the water falling in his eyes. "What, do you think this is the first time this has happened? When we were on the Rialto Bridge last May, I was on bloody bended knee before you, and you took one look at me and fled when it began to rain, some bullshit about your hair and the rain not getting along. _Did you honestly believe I was down there tying my shoelace?"_

"Draco, what are you –"

"Or what about when we went to Paris last summer? I sure as hell hadn't spotted a Knut on the ground went I got down again in front of the sodding Eiffel Tower! I had no idea summer showers were so bloody prompt, falling the exact moment my fucking knee hit the ground. And you ran away again! Spouting something about getting the baguette wet! We were in _Paris_ , Granger! We were not going to be left wanting for baguettes!

"Or how about last bloody month?" he went on without a breath, a man possessed. "When we went to visit your parents in Melbourne? It's meant to be fucking spring down there, almost summer! The city certainly lived up to its reputation of experiencing all four seasons in one day.

"Once at the Burrow too, last August. Here I thought I'd be safely dry indoors to do it that time, but no, of bloody course not! The sodding twins set fire to something, setting off the Atmospheric charm and made it fucking _rain indoors_! You were off like a bloody Muggle bullet at that one!

"And now…" He trailed off, his shirt plastered to his skin and his hair lying wet and flat against his head, breathing deeply. "Merlin, Granger… I swear there's some sort of conspiracy against me asking you to marry me."

"You want to marry me?" she asked in surprise, reaching out and clutching at his soaked shirt.

He snorted, his hands coming up to cover hers. His thumb stroked idly over the unadorned space on her left ring finger. "I think the whole of Hyde Park knows I want to marry you."

"Your wife?" she whispered.

He rolled his eyes at her, and a tiny smile tugged at his lips. "Yes, darling, my wife. Since that is what marriage usually entails."

"So you aren't breaking up with me?"

"Breaking up with you?" he repeated, incredulous, before bestowing her with a blinding smile. "Why would I do something so inadvisably stupid?"

"I thought… the picnic, and you were acting oddly… I just… God, I don't even know."

"I would not have packed your favourite foods and brought you to your favourite park at your favourite time of year if I had any intention of leaving you." He pushed a heavy, sodden lock of hair from her face and leaned forward to gently kiss her lips. "I truly have no idea how you earned your 'brightest witch' moniker, Granger. It confuses me."

"I assure you, that isn't a difficult task to accomplish."

He nipped her bottom lip in rebuke before moving in to kiss her again. "Keep saying things like that and I may reconsider my stance on marrying you."

One of Draco's hands wound itself around her waist, while the other came up to wrap around her neck and hold her close as he deepened the kiss. His tongue made short, teasing strokes over her wet lips, nibbling numerous entreaties for entrance before her mind melted and her mouth surrendered.

"Marry me, Granger," he murmured against her lips.

Hermione pulled back an inch and laughed. "After everything you had planned, all those romantic ideas that very nearly worked, that's how you're going to ask me?"

"I've come to the conclusion that the so-called perfect moment is a lie," he announced. The hand that was around her neck let go and buried itself in his coat pocket again, this time producing a small, black velvet box.

Draco dropped to one knee on the muddy ground – and Hermione very much appreciated the visual of Draco Malfoy in the mud. The hand that had been around her waist took her left one and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I don't say it very often, but I do love you, Granger. You're far more than I deserve, and considering our history, I'm the luckiest bastard in the world to have you, and I intend to spend the rest of our lives thanking you for taking a chance on me." He opened the box, revealing a simple white gold band with a brilliant square cut diamond in the centre, and Hermione couldn't hold back her tears. "Marry me, Hermione Granger."

She tried to yell 'Yes!' but her throat wouldn't cooperate. Instead, she nodded profusely, tears falling and mingling with the softening rain as a streak of sunlight cut through the sky.

"Yes?" he asked cautiously for confirmation, a small, shaky smile on his lips. "No going back, Granger."

Hermione laughed and nodded some more, her voice finally coming back to her with a loud, enthusiastic, "Yes!"

His small smile turned into a grin so wide it wrinkled the corners of his eyes as he took the ring from the box and slid it onto the fourth finger of her left hand. He took a moment to admire it on her finger, and pressed a kiss to it before jumping up and pulling her into a tight hug, his lips trailing warm kisses over her cold neck, his breath heating her as he mumbled something unintelligible against her skin.

"Shouldn't we head somewhere a bit more… I don't know, dry?" she asked, jerking her head back towards the unattended gazebo.

Draco pulled back and smirked. It was cheeky and dangerous, one that never boded well for her, then he shook his head. "Granger, you have run away from me in the rain far too many times. Now? Even though we're both already ludicrously soaked, I think I'm due a little bit of fun at your expense."

His hands slid down her shoulders to take hers, then spun her around in circles, leading them both in a silly, random dance that had no music, no beat, and no steps. Hermione laughed, letting him lead and trusting him to show her the way as a brightly coloured rainbow appeared in a perfect arc in the sky.


End file.
